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In
the
course
of
that
incredible
day
Charity
Royall
had
,
for
the
first
and
only
time
,
experienced
railway
-
travel
,
looked
into
shops
with
plate
-
glass
fronts
,
tasted
cocoanut
pie
,
sat
in
a
theatre
,
and
listened
to
a
gentleman
saying
unintelligible
things
before
pictures
that
she
would
have
enjoyed
looking
at
if
his
explanations
had
not
prevented
her
from
understanding
them
.
This
initiation
had
shown
her
that
North
Dormer
was
a
small
place
,
and
developed
in
her
a
thirst
for
information
that
her
position
as
custodian
of
the
village
library
had
previously
failed
to
excite
.
For
a
month
or
two
she
dipped
feverishly
and
disconnectedly
into
the
dusty
volumes
of
the
Hatchard
Memorial
Library
;
then
the
impression
of
Nettleton
began
to
fade
,
and
she
found
it
easier
to
take
North
Dormer
as
the
norm
of
the
universe
than
to
go
on
reading
.
The
sight
of
the
stranger
once
more
revived
memories
of
Nettleton
,
and
North
Dormer
shrank
to
its
real
size
.
As
she
looked
up
and
down
it
,
from
lawyer
Royall
’
s
faded
red
house
at
one
end
to
the
white
church
at
the
other
,
she
pitilessly
took
its
measure
.
There
it
lay
,
a
weather
-
beaten
sunburnt
village
of
the
hills
,
abandoned
of
men
,
left
apart
by
railway
,
trolley
,
telegraph
,
and
all
the
forces
that
link
life
to
life
in
modern
communities
.
It
had
no
shops
,
no
theatres
,
no
lectures
,
no
“
business
block
”
;
only
a
church
that
was
opened
every
other
Sunday
if
the
state
of
the
roads
permitted
,
and
a
library
for
which
no
new
books
had
been
bought
for
twenty
years
,
and
where
the
old
ones
mouldered
undisturbed
on
the
damp
shelves
.
Yet
Charity
Royall
had
always
been
told
that
she
ought
to
consider
it
a
privilege
that
her
lot
had
been
cast
in
North
Dormer
.
She
knew
that
,
compared
to
the
place
she
had
come
from
,
North
Dormer
represented
all
the
blessings
of
the
most
refined
civilization
.
Everyone
in
the
village
had
told
her
so
ever
since
she
had
been
brought
there
as
a
child
.
Even
old
Miss
Hatchard
had
said
to
her
,
on
a
terrible
occasion
in
her
life
:
“
My
child
,
you
must
never
cease
to
remember
that
it
was
Mr
.
Royall
who
brought
you
down
from
the
Mountain
.
”
She
had
been
“
brought
down
from
the
Mountain
”
;
from
the
scarred
cliff
that
lifted
its
sullen
wall
above
the
lesser
slopes
of
Eagle
Range
,
making
a
perpetual
background
of
gloom
to
the
lonely
valley
.
The
Mountain
was
a
good
fifteen
miles
away
,
but
it
rose
so
abruptly
from
the
lower
hills
that
it
seemed
almost
to
cast
its
shadow
over
North
Dormer
.
And
it
was
like
a
great
magnet
drawing
the
clouds
and
scattering
them
in
storm
across
the
valley
.
If
ever
,
in
the
purest
summer
sky
,
there
trailed
a
thread
of
vapour
over
North
Dormer
,
it
drifted
to
the
Mountain
as
a
ship
drifts
to
a
whirlpool
,
and
was
caught
among
the
rocks
,
torn
up
and
multiplied
,
to
sweep
back
over
the
village
in
rain
and
darkness
.
Charity
was
not
very
clear
about
the
Mountain
;
but
she
knew
it
was
a
bad
place
,
and
a
shame
to
have
come
from
,
and
that
,
whatever
befell
her
in
North
Dormer
,
she
ought
,
as
Miss
Hatchard
had
once
reminded
her
,
to
remember
that
she
had
been
brought
down
from
there
,
and
hold
her
tongue
and
be
thankful
.
She
looked
up
at
the
Mountain
,
thinking
of
these
things
,
and
tried
as
usual
to
be
thankful
.
But
the
sight
of
the
young
man
turning
in
at
Miss
Hatchard
’
s
gate
had
brought
back
the
vision
of
the
glittering
streets
of
Nettleton
,
and
she
felt
ashamed
of
her
old
sun
-
hat
,
and
sick
of
North
Dormer
,
and
jealously
aware
of
Annabel
Balch
of
Springfield
,
opening
her
blue
eyes
somewhere
far
off
on
glories
greater
than
the
glories
of
Nettleton
.
“
How
I
hate
everything
!
”
she
said
again
.
Half
way
down
the
street
she
stopped
at
a
weak
-
hinged
gate
.
Passing
through
it
,
she
walked
down
a
brick
path
to
a
queer
little
brick
temple
with
white
wooden
columns
supporting
a
pediment
on
which
was
inscribed
in
tarnished
gold
letters
:
“
The
Honorius
Hatchard
Memorial
Library
,
1832
.
”
Honorius
Hatchard
had
been
old
Miss
Hatchard
’
s
great
-
uncle
;
though
she
would
undoubtedly
have
reversed
the
phrase
,
and
put
forward
,
as
her
only
claim
to
distinction
,
the
fact
that
she
was
his
great
-
niece
.
For
Honorius
Hatchard
,
in
the
early
years
of
the
nineteenth
century
,
had
enjoyed
a
modest
celebrity
.
As
the
marble
tablet
in
the
interior
of
the
library
informed
its
infrequent
visitors
,
he
had
possessed
marked
literary
gifts
,
written
a
series
of
papers
called
“
The
Recluse
of
Eagle
Range
,
”
enjoyed
the
acquaintance
of
Washington
Irving
and
Fitz
-
Greene
Halleck
,
and
been
cut
off
in
his
flower
by
a
fever
contracted
in
Italy
.
Such
had
been
the
sole
link
between
North
Dormer
and
literature
,
a
link
piously
commemorated
by
the
erection
of
the
monument
where
Charity
Royall
,
every
Tuesday
and
Thursday
afternoon
,
sat
at
her
desk
under
a
freckled
steel
engraving
of
the
deceased
author
,
and
wondered
if
he
felt
any
deader
in
his
grave
than
she
did
in
his
library
.
